


Oxford

by Aelfgyfu



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-14
Updated: 2011-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelfgyfu/pseuds/Aelfgyfu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur meets a brilliant passenger and has an Idea for Douglas. Fluff and hilarity ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oxford

A moment of quiet. Douglas had achieved an actual moment of quiet in the cockpit. Certainly the plane hummed around him, but it hummed instead of rattling or making ominous noises. Martin silently triple-checked some figures. Arthur was not in evidence. Carolyn had settled in with the passengers.

Douglas cursed himself internally for even thinking about the peace, because now he had ruined it. Sure enough, the cockpit door flew open.

"You'll never guess what the vegan in seat 2A does!"

It must be something exciting, for Arthur had entered the flight deck without any of his customary greetings. Then again, anything could be exciting to Arthur.

"Yoga. She's currently sitting in a full-lotus, levitating six inches above her seat," Douglas predicted. It fit with vegan, at least.

"Wow! Wouldn't that be something?"

Douglas didn't even have to look; he could hear that Arthur's smile was undimmed.

"But no. I mean, she might do yoga, but that's not what she's doing now. Right now, she's reading a book. Skip, what's your guess? What do you think the vegan in 2A does?"

"Reads?" Martin asked absently. He studied the gauges in front of him as if he expected them to do something . . . unexpected.

"Wow! That's brilliant, Skip! But that's not it. I mean, yes, she reads, and it's a great guess, but that isn't what I meant."

What else might a vegan do?

"Women," Douglas answered authoritatively. "She does women."

Martin looked up from the controls to frown at him.

"Wow! No. I don't know. I'm not even sure what that means," Arthur answered. Fortunately, he decided not to pursue the issue, as Douglas expected. "Give up?"

Douglas considered. They hadn't had a good distraction since Arthur had prematurely ended his and Martin's game of Small Mammals Arthur Would Not Consider Adopting by bringing them each a cup of tea and greeting Douglas's sudden "Tasmanian devil" with "Aren't they cute? I wonder what they'd be like as pets!" Moments like that made him wonder if Arthur really did follow more of what happened around him than he appeared to do. He couldn't have heard the lead-in to "Tasmanian devil," could he?

Apparently Douglas had taken too long to take another guess.

"She's an entomologist!" Arthur gushed.

"She studies insects?" Douglas could not imagine how Arthur could find that exciting, but then again, he couldn't imagine a Tasmanian devil as a pet. He didn't think Snoopadoop would appreciate the company, either, but perhaps Arthur had not considered that aspect of owning a Tasmanian devil.

Arthur didn't reply, and Douglas turned to find him looking befuddled.

"I suppose she might," Arthur said slowly. "Maybe words relating to insects? But she wasn't that specific when she told me. Just 'words and their origins,' she said."

"You mean _etymologist_?" Douglas queried.

"Isn't that what I said?"

"I think you said entomologist, Arthur," Martin answered, letting his gauges mind themselves for a moment.

Arthur's face creased a little as he considered the matter. Douglas decided to put him out of his misery, or at least his slight bafflement.

"They sound similar, Arthur, but they aren't really the same thing at all. An _entomologist_ studies insects. An _etymologist_ studies the origins of words." He added in an undertone, "At least in her spare time. For her day job, she probably asks, 'Do you want fries with that?'"

"Oh, no!" Arthur's smiled broadly again. "For her day job, she works at _The Oxford English Dictionary_!"

"That's very nice," Martin replied, his eyes now wandering about the cabin. He was probably trying to come up with a new game. Perhaps Douglas should suggest Small Insects Arthur Would Not Consider Adopting. It would be easier to play once Arthur left the cockpit, of course.

"Oh! I have an idea!"

Martin as well as Douglas snapped to give full attention to Arthur. Arthur's ideas tended to go places (most memorably, Helsinki), and because he hadn't been in on the earlier game, he was unlikely simply to suggest another game.

"You have a great voice, Douglas."

"Ye-es," Douglas replied slowly. He didn't turn down compliments as a matter of course, but he wasn't sure he wanted to commit to following where this one might lead.

"There are these things called audiobooks, you know, Douglas."

"Yes, I know." What had audiobooks to do with etymology? Or even with entomology? "So?"

"So! You like words, right, Douglas?"

Douglas did credit himself with a certain linguistic flair, true. "Yes."

"You're really good with them. You knew the difference between etomology and entymology, even!"

"Etymology and entomology, Arthur." Douglas had to correct him, but he could afford to be gentle—magnanimous, even.

"See? Isn't that brilliant, Skip?"

"Brilliant." Martin was watching them both with a little smile, as if he had some idea where this was going. That was bad, because Douglas had none. Douglas _always_ knew where things were going. He usually plotted out all the moves himself. When Douglas _didn't_ see where things were going, adverse consequences tended to ensue.

"So there are these things called audiobooks—"

"We got the audiobooks, Arthur," Martin cut him off, though not unkindly. "Some of us may even have heard one or two."

Douglas put on his surprised face. "Really, Martin? I didn't realize that you were a bibliophile. What did you get? _How to Pass the Pilot's Test in Seven Easy Tries_?"

Martin scowled. Arthur smiled all the broader.

"See? 'Bibliophile!' I don't even know what that means, but it sounds brilliant!"

"It means 'book lover,'" Douglas explained.

"That's why you're perfect to do it! You know all the words already, you can pronounce them and they sound great. . . ."

"Do _what_ , Arthur?" Martin asked.

"Do the audiobook of _The Oxford English Dictionary_!"

Martin laughed.

Douglas hardly had time to glare at Martin in his astonishment. "The audiobook—Arthur, I don't think they _do_ audiobooks of dictionaries. Certainly not _The OED_."

Arthur remained undaunted. "You could be the first, then!"

Martin was smiling again.

"Arthur, have you any idea how daft that would be?" Douglas asked.

"No. How daft?"

"Do you know how many words there are in _The OED_?"

"No. Do you?"

"No. But that's not the point—"

Arthur suddenly exited the cockpit.

"Reading the dictionary! That sounds like an excellent use of your skills, Douglas. After all, you do like to talk."

Douglas fixed a stern gaze on Martin, who began studying the artificial horizon and the altimeter. He had the temerity, however, to continue smiling.

Arthur burst back into the cockpit. "Just under 220,000!"

Martin jerked back to the controls for a quick check. "220,000? What are you talking about, Arthur? We're at 10,000 meters, as we should be. That's 32,808 feet."

Douglas would be impressed if he didn't know that Martin, unsure of his math skills, had simply memorized the metric-to-English conversion for any altitude at which they might fly lest he run afoul of American air traffic controllers.

"Not 220,000 feet, Skip! 220,000 words! In _The Oxford English Dictionary_!"

A momentary silence descended, finally broken by Martin's "That's an awful lot of words."

"Well said." Douglas couldn't help himself. And why should he?

He did, however, help himself to some scratch paper and a pen. 220,000 words?

"Arthur, it's lovely that you'd think of me doing audiobooks."

"Of course! You'd be a natural! You have such a great voice!"

Douglas smiled tolerantly. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Arthur took agreement as encouragement. "And you wouldn't have to leave this job! Skip has another job; you could do audiobooks on the side."

Douglas had no doubt that he could. He just doubted that it would be a lucrative line of work. He should, however, check into that. Some celebrities did audiobooks; perhaps it could be worth his while? In the meantime. . . .

"While Martin may have two jobs (because he doesn't have any other life to speak of), I do enjoy some free time for . . . a variety of activities."

He ignored the rude noise made by Martin.

"However, 220,000 words is, as our pilot has insightfully noted, 'an awful lot of words.' Now, I have heard a few audiobooks myself. They go a bit slower than one would read silently."

"Oh, I know! 150 to 160 words a minute, she said."

"Who said?"

"The entym—the etymologist from _The OED_."

Martin rejoined the conversation. "You asked her?"

Martin should know better. Arthur had no qualms about asking passengers about anything. The only surprise was that she'd given him an answer. Why would an etymologist know such a thing? But that could well be a correct figure. Douglas crossed out his previous calculations, redoing them with the new information while trying not to think about what else Arthur might have said to the vegan in 2A. It was too bad she wasn't one seat over, which would open a whole range of possible remarks. Alas, 2A was not 2B. He said so, to a thunderous lack of appreciation other than Arthur's usual grin.

"So there are 220,000 headwords in _The OED_ ," Douglas said, giving up on his _bons mots_ for the moment. "She did mean headwords, right?'

"Sure!" Then came the inevitable pause. "What's a headword?"

Martin sighed.

Douglas explained with diminishing patience, "The headword, Arthur, is the word under which one looks to find a definition. So if you want to know the difference between an etymologist and an entomologist, you look under 'etymologist' and 'entomologist.' If you want to know the difference between a colt and a clot—"

"Oh! I know this one!" Arthur positively gleamed. "I'm a clot. And so are you! Remember that time—"

Douglas couldn't hear the rest because Martin was laughing too hard.

"Shut up if you ever want help again," Douglas growled at the man next to him.

Martin's attempts to smother his laughter were not entirely successful.

"—a young horse." Douglas had tuned in just in time to get the end of Arthur's little speech.

Douglas then shared his calculations. "So if there are 220,000 headwords in _The OED_ , and I were to read each at the rate of 150 words per minute—"

"Or wpm, we might say," Martin interjected.

"If I were to read each at the rate of 150 _wpm_ , it would take me . . . twenty-four hours to read the headwords."

"Oh, excellent! That's even better than I thought!"

Douglas should have known Arthur wouldn't receive the information as intended.

"You could do it on a day off!"

"It would take the entire day!" Douglas could not wholly keep the incredulity from his voice.

"Yes, but then you'd be done."

"Without time to drink? Or eat?"

"Or go to the loo?" Martin suggested. "Of course, if you're not eating or drinking, you wouldn't much need the toilet—"

"Martin! Look, Arthur, it's really wonderful of you to suggest me. I'm flattered."

Martin mumbled what sounded like "Really?"

"But 220,000 only includes _headwords_. That's not definitions, or ent—etymologies, or sample quotations, or anything." Now Arthur had made _him_ stumble over his words, and Douglas did not appreciate that.

"Oh." Arthur was momentarily daunted. Just barely.

"Did you happen to ask your new chum how many words there are to _define and describe_ the 220,000 headwords?"

"No, but—"

Douglas grabbed Arthur's arm to prevent him exiting the cockpit again.

"I could, perhaps, read for six hours a day. Then it would only take me four days to read all the headwords. But headwords are actually the _minority_ of words in the dictionary. There must be millions of words."

Arthur frowned. "That's a lot of words, all right. I'm not sure . . . I'm not sure I could even imagine a million words."

"Listen to Douglas long enough, and—"

"Martin!"

Martin had the gall to give Douglas an innocent look. "I was just reminding Arthur of your eloquence, Douglas."

"Eloquence! That's a good one! Say, maybe the two of you could trade off! You have a great voice too, Skip!"

Martin's voice? Martin's ordinary, sometimes squeaky, often pathetic little voice? Suddenly Arthur's valuation of Douglas's voice, which _was_ a voice worthy of audiobooks, seemed paltry.

Arthur kept talking. They could do it in shifts. He could arrange it with the passenger in 2A; she was ever so nice! They'd be brilliant together. Martin kept smiling at Douglas throughout the monologue. Douglas considered pointing out that Arthur might not only be able to imagine a million words, but to say them in rather a short time, but he was afraid that would only prolong his own suffering. Fortunately, Carolyn called up to say that the steward was needed.

"That's me!" he said, and popped out of the cockpit.

The rest of the flight was fairly uneventful. Douglas refrained from Small Insects Arthur Might Adopt (or even Large Insects Arthur Might Adopt) and instead suggested a game wherein he and Martin each tried to come up with words the other didn't know. Of course he trounced Martin soundly. It was too easy to be satisfying, which was a shame—particularly when Douglas began making up words and definitions, and Martin accepted them just as he had the real ones.

The vegan in 2A, Douglas discovered when they had finally landed and were bidding the passengers adieu, was fairly attractive. Tall but not too tall, she had long legs that surely would look better in a short skirt than the trousers she wore. She looked to be the right age, too: not too young, and not too old. She wasn't wearing a ring. He rather hoped Arthur hadn't mentioned his Idea.

"Thank you for flying MJN air," he told her, with a warm handshake.

"Ah, you must be The Brilliant Voice that the flight attendant kept telling me about!" she exclaimed.

"Douglas Richardson, at your service." Douglas bowed just slightly as he took her hand. She didn't seem too put off by Arthur's enthusiasms, and he hoped she would volunteer her name in response to his.

"Your flight attendant suggested that you might do an audiobook for us at _The OED_ ," she said instead, reclaiming her hand from his. "I did explain that we have no plans for such a release at this time, to his great disappointment."

Douglas managed not to flinch or blush at her amused expression.

"If we ever make the change to that medium, however, I'll see if I can't put your name forward." She flashed shiny teeth at him and moved on to say goodbye to Arthur.

Douglas stared. He hadn't got her name, which was really too bad—but worse, he had the uncomfortable sense that she was laughing at him.

"Well, Douglas." Martin was grinning again. "At a loss for words? I know someone who could help!"

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my Brilliant Husband for reading and laughing (and pointing out some small errors).
> 
> Roger Allam has in fact done audiobooks, I found in the course of writing the story. I wanted to work one of them in, but I couldn't imagine Arthur or Martin having heard any of the books I found listed under Roger Allam's name, and I could barely manage to keep three people going with dialogue; I couldn't afford to try bringing in Carolyn!
> 
> I checked, and as far as I can tell, _The OED_ is indeed _not_ available as an audiobook. I hope that if the editors ever change their minds, they will call Roger Allam—and possibly Benedict Cumberbatch, while they're at it. But Ben will have to do his Sherlock voice, not his Martin voice


End file.
